


and terrorists don't get to be heroes

by AceofWands



Series: Avengers Trek Anthology [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Avengers Trek AU, Can be read standalone, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Gen, Maquis, Nat is a badass, Pre-Relationship, Star Trek Context Notes Provided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceofWands/pseuds/AceofWands
Summary: It took Clint a minute to remember the story Chakotay had told them, sitting around a campfire, everything getting hazy on cheap Bajoran springwine. But as soon as he did he revised his previous thought, it wasn't just Bajorans, all Maquis were crazy. He supposed it was why he fit in so well.He grinned. “The Chakotay-manoeuvre it is,” he said, already tapping commands into his console in preparation.“He'll hate that name,” Ro replied, he didn't have to look over to see her grin, “We'll have to tell him next time we see him.”





	and terrorists don't get to be heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Finally uploading a fic series that has been on my harddrive since 2014. This fic was written pre-AOU.
> 
> Avengers/Star Trek crossover that reimagines the Marvel characters as part of the classic Star Trek universe.
> 
> My Clint is written pre-AOU and based more on his comic and cartoon counterpart than his MCU character (ie. he's a bit of a mess). Also I was intending eventual Clint/Nat/Phil in future instalments (that were never written), so feel free to read into that.
> 
> Title from the DS9 episode "Defiant", from Kira Nerys' line to Tom Riker: "No, you're trying to be a hero ... and terrorists don't get to be heroes."
> 
> Set in 2371.
> 
> Star Trek context notes:  
> The Maquis are featured in the TNG episode "Preemptive Strike", in DS9 beginning with "The Maquis" and, of course, throughout Voyager. They are formed when the Federation and Cardassian Union sign a treaty which forms a De-Militarized Zone (the DMZ) on the border between Federation and Cardassian space. This results in former Federation colonies now being under Cardassian rule. Former Federation citizens who object to the treaty form the Maquis to fight back against the Cardassians, and are soon joined by Bajorans and other people looking for an excuse to fight.
> 
> The Cardassians are a reptilian race (with distinctive neck ridges and a spoon-like ridge on their forehead) who are xenophobic and imperialistic, known for their extreme loyalty to the State and the military, with a justice system in which the accused is always guilty. They fought a war with the Federation from 2347-2366, and occupied the planet of Bajor from 2319-2369 in a brutal occupation that devastated the planet and people.
> 
> The Obsidian Order is the Cardassian Union's ruthless intelligence agency, known to spy on their own citizens to remove any dissenters, they are known to place undercover agents in the Maquis and on Bajor during the Occupation.
> 
> The Bajorans are a religious people whose planet was recently occupied by the Cardassians. They have concertina-like ridges across their nose, and wear a distinctive earring on their right ear as a symbol of their faith. The Bajoran Resistance was an organised group of freedom fighters who fought the Occupation by any means necessary. Because of these recent events, Bajorans have become known as a passionate, angry people, who despise Cardassians.
> 
> The Badlands are a region of space near the DMZ which are known for instabilities and plasma storms, and thus has become the main hiding place for the Maquis.

“We've got incoming!” Clint Barton shouted over his shoulder, already turning back to the console in front of him and mapping out potential targets. “Two _Galor_ -class warships coming in hot.”

“Shit, there's no way we can take out two of them alone,” Ro Laren cursed at the helm, hands busy with the task of piloting _Sparrowhawk_ , their beat up Maquis fighter.

“As opposed to one, which we could have taken out easily,” quipped Roma Natal from the back of the cabin, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.

Ro rolled her eyes, but didn't dignify the remark with a response. “We're going to have to outrun them,” she announced, “I'm setting a course for the Badlands. Warp one.” Her fingers smoothly input the commands and a second later Clint was pushed back into his seat as they jumped to warp. These old _Harrier_ -class ships left a lot to be desired in the inertial dampener department.

“Roger that,” Clint replied, watching the Cardie ships falling behind them on the screen. Then a moment later, “Shit. They're increasing speed – they'll be on us in three minutes tops.”

“Increasing to warp three,” Ro responded, the engines shuddering to comply.

“Are we going to need a bogeyman?” Roma asked, sticking her head around the doorway to the aft compartment.

“Looks like,” Clint said, gritting his teeth. “They've jumped to warp four.” He began charging up their phasers, anticipating Ro's command. She noticed the readout on her console and flashed him a grin over her shoulder, even as she increased their speed past warp four.

Their maximum speed was warp four point five. Clearly they were beginning to approach that, given the way Clint's console began vibrating beneath his fingertips. A _Galor_ -class warship could surpass warp five easily. And it seemed that these Cardies were pretty keen on scoring themselves a nice easy victory against a tiny Maquis vessel that was no match for them – bastards.

“They're increasing to warp five,” he called out, “Get that bogey ready Nat!”

“On it!” she called back.

“How are we gonna play this?” Clint asked Ro, eyes never leaving his monitor, where he watched as the Cardie ships were slowly eating up the distance between them.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, mouth twisting as she contemplated their options. The shudder of the ship around them didn't even seem to faze her at all. _Bajorans_ , Clint scoffed internally.

“How about that manoeuvre Chakotay told us about? Last time we were on Tracken?” she suggested, eyebrows raised.

It took Clint a minute to remember the story Chakotay had told them, sitting around a campfire, everything getting hazy on cheap Bajoran springwine. But as soon as he did he revised his previous thought, it wasn't just Bajorans, all Maquis were crazy. He supposed it was why he fit in so well.

He grinned, “The Chakotay-manoeuvre it is,” he said, already tapping commands into his console in preparation.

“He'll hate that name,” Ro replied, he didn't have to look over to see her grin, “We'll have to tell him next time we see him.”

Clint's grinned widened, even as the Cardies crept into firing range. Despite the very real possibility that they were going to get blown up, never to be seen or heard from again, he felt a sense of absolute faith in the abilities of the women he was fighting alongside. They'd already been through so much together, it felt as if nothing could stop them – maybe that was crazy, or just sheer arrogance, but Clint would rather focus on that than worry about the odds of them getting out of this alive.

“They're opening fire!” he called out, half amused, half panicked.

“Taking evasive action!” Ro responded, hands a blur over her console.

Clint saw a line of golden light streak past the window above his console, narrowly missing them. Then the stars – streaks of light while they were at warp – shrunk back down to pinpricks of light again as their ship dropped back into impulse. They continued on in the direction they'd been going at full impulse for the precious seconds it took for the Cardies to double back and drop out of warp next to them.

Then it was on. Both ships bore down upon them, disruptor beams streaking across the vast distance towards them. The stars spun wildly as Ro rolled them, and Clint thanked his foresight at having strapped himself into his seat – that last turn would have sent him tumbling into the roof if he hadn't.

“Returning fire,” Clint announced, correctly anticipating Ro's next manoeuvre as the ship did a complete 180 and ducked under the bellies of the Cardie ships. Their phaser beams hit all their marks perfectly, but unfortunately were no match for their shields.

They shot out past the ships, already spinning on their axis to loop out and around, dodging their disruptor beams nimbly.

“How's that bogey coming?” Ro called out, barely glancing over her shoulder.

“Locked and loaded,” Roma replied, appearing in the doorway. Clint had no idea how she always managed to stay on her feet, even when the deck was rolling wildly beneath her. But, as always, she didn't even have a single red hair out of place.

“You ready Clint?” Ro asked, their eyes locking for a split second.

“You know it,” he replied, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

“Executing Chakotay-manoeuvre,” Ro announced, deadpan as ever.

“The what?” Roma snorted, dropping into the seat on the opposite site of the cabin from Clint.

But they didn't have time to explain. Ro brought them around from underneath, aiming directly for the underside of the nearest ship and ramping up their speed to its maximum. Clint launched two of their precious photon torpedoes at the other vessel as they went past, then unloaded their phaser bank at the ship in front of them.

To the Cardies it looked like they were on a direct collision course, one last desperate attempt by the Maquis to go out guns blazing.

The vessel tried to pull away, its friend distracted by the photons for long enough that it couldn't do anything to help. The steady stream of phaser fire was enough to punch a hole in their shields big enough for them to slip through.

Clint felt his hands shake as the hull of the _Galor_ -class vessel loomed in front of them, its muted, mustard-coloured metal filling their windows completely. He fired phasers at them – might as well do as much damage as they could while they were here – but at the last second Ro spun them 180, pushing their engines to maximum as they shot back out the way they came.

In that split second, right after they'd turned, but before they'd made it back out of the hole in the shields, Clint launched the bogeyman.

Then, the moment they'd cleared the shields, he launched another photon at the second vessel – but this time it was ready for it. Its disruptor beam shot out, blowing it up before it could hit, and the explosion rocked their ship as well as the Cardie's vessel.

Ro swore as she steered them back up and over the damaged vessel – but not quickly enough, the second ship got off a clean shot, its disruptors hitting their starboard hull. Sparks flew, showering them all, and Clint heard the distinct hiss of air decompressing.

Roma was up and running through to the aft compartment before he even had time to register what had happened. Within a few seconds the hissing had stopped.

“Breach contained!” she called out.

Before the undamaged Cardie ship could do any more damage to them, Ro took them to warp, swearing a blue streak.

Clint watched his monitor as they slipped further and further away from the Cardassian signals. The undamaged vessel had turned and started to pursuit them at impulse, but before it could jump to warp three new signals appeared, coming in fast.

“Bogey's working!” Clint announced, letting out a sigh of relief and slumping back in his chair as the Cardie ship turned back around to face the 'incoming vessels'.

“Good, that'll give us time to slip away before they realise,” Ro said, already plotting their course back to the Badlands and pushing the engines back up to warp four.

“That'll teach 'em for underestimating us, damn Spoonheads,” Clint muttered, rubbing a hand over his singed eyebrows and scowling.

“We were lucky it worked,” Roma said pointedly, as she came back in from the aft compartment. “And that that last shot didn't do more damage.” She leaned over her console, tapping a few commands before looking back up, “Starboard thrusters are down, and the starboard phaser array won't be able to do much with its power flow severed. But we'll be able to get back to Marva in one piece – after our little detour to the Badlands to throw them off the scent.”

Clint turned around to face her before rolling his eyes, “Come on Nat, admit it, we fooled them.”

Her eyebrows rose, but she shrugged and said, “We fooled them.”

Clint gaped, he hadn't expected her to actually admit it.

Then she went on, “But we could have just as easily not fooled them. And I wouldn't count on that little trick working a second time.”

Clint sighed dramatically and threw his hands up for good measure. “Can't you just be happy that _this time_ we got away with our lives and our ship all in one piece?”

Roma seemed to consider this for a moment. “No,” she said at last. Clint groaned.

“At least,” Roma added, “Not until we're safely on Marva. I don't count my sinoraptors before they hatch.”

“She's got a point,” Ro added, finally turning around in her seat.

“Ugh, Bajorans,” Clint grumbled, standing up and stretching. He'd better get something to eat now, before some new disaster presented itself.

“Hey, I resent that,” Roma said, frowning – but Clint could see the humour in her eyes.

“If the earring fits,” Clint said, shrugging as he went past.

~

“What about you Natal? You've been very tight lipped since you joined us – care to share?”

They were sitting around a campfire on Marva IV, almost a full day after their encounter with the Cardassians. They'd only arrived a few hours ago – they'd had to spend the better part of five hours hiding in the Badlands from a _Keldon_ -class cruiser that had most likely been sent looking for them. It was good to be planet-side again, and among friends.

Marva IV had been claimed as a camp by the Maquis and served as a base for many of their operations in the Demilitarized Zone. It had been founded by the colonists of Salva II, after their eviction by the Cardassians following the Treaty of 2370. It hadn't taken the colonists long, once they'd become aware of the resistance movement, to ally themselves with the Maquis.

Clint, Ro and Roma had been welcomed with open arms, fed with the best food they'd had in days (though to be fair, anything was better than ration packs), and now sat, comfortably warm and full, sipping smuggled Andorian ale with their fellow resistance fighters.

As inevitably happened when the booze was cracked open, they'd soon begun to tell each other stories – they'd already recounted their battle with the Cardassian cruisers, now it seemed it was time to delve deeper.

Clint didn't think Thelin was going to get much out of Roma though – and he was soon proved right.

Roma's face, relaxed and open a moment ago, immediately turned stony. She shrugged one shoulder, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glared at him across the circle. “What is there to share? I'm Bajoran, you all already know what I'm doing here. The Cardassians took everything I had – my home, my family, everything. There's nothing more to say.”

Thelin scoffed, his antennae swooping to either side, “Come now, surely there's more to it than that.”

Nat's eyes flashed dangerously and Clint's muscles tensed in preparation for a fight. He knew she could take care of herself, but most of the group was made up of Thelin's friends.

But before anything could happen, Ro was leaning forward, her gaze even icier than normal. “She told you to drop it, th'Shari,” she snapped.

Thelin raised his hands in a placating gesture, which was echoed in the movements of his antennae. “Sorry, sorry, I take it back,” he said, tone only slightly mocking – at least he had enough sense not to make Bajoran women any angrier than they already were. “What about you Barton?” he asked, changing tactics.

Clint rolled his eyes, “I'm sure you've already heard my sorry excuse for a story by now th'Shari.”

“Well maybe I want to hear it again!” Thelin said.

Clint's jaw clenched, he'd heard it said more than once that Thelin was one of their best fighters, because he always seemed spoiling for a fight, and never knew how to quit. But if he didn't watch his goddamn temper he was going to get his ass handed to him by the people on his own side.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and relay this important piece of information, Roma spoke up. “I'd like to hear it, if you don't mind,” she said softly.

Clint flushed and rubbed the back of his neck, “Alright, why not,” he agreed quickly – too quickly if Thelin's smirk was anything to go by. But he wasn't in the mood for another fight, so he ignored him in favour of pointedly clearing his throat.

“I was born on the planet Galion III, on the edge of the Federation-Cardassian border,” he began, settling back into a comfortable position, his mug clutched loosely in his lap. “My folks were part of a colony that wanted to shun all forms of technology, to return to a more 'natural' way of life. So I grew up learning how to farm, and cook from scratch, and build things with my bare hands. But I was best at hunting – using a primitive Earth weapon called a bow and arrow.”

A few incredulous eyebrows went up among the crowd – newcomers who hadn't heard the story before, who probably doubted that such people even existed, let alone in the midst one of the most strategically contentious sectors for the Federation and Cardassian Union.

“When I was a teenager, people in my colony started getting sick – really sick. There was nothing our doctors could do, not with our limited technology,” Clint explained.

“Now, I'd heard rumours my entire life about other colonies on the planet – Federation colonies, places with technology that could do incredible things. So when my parents were affected by this illness …” he trailed off, the memory still difficult even a decade later.

Old regrets welled up, but before he could dwell on them Roma said, “You went looking for one of these colonies.”

Clint swallowed heavily, giving her a grateful look, “Right. It took me weeks – I hunted for food along the way – but eventually I found one of their cities …”

He can still remember it, the first glimpse he had of it. Gleaming metal and stone stretching into the sky, elaborate fountains and gardens, aircraft floating effortlessly overhead. Even now, having seen the megacities of Federation planets that dwarfed the colony's tiny city a hundred fold, he still remembered the feeling of awe and wonder he'd felt upon glimpsing the results of modern technology.

“I still remember the look on people's faces, seeing me wander in out of the wilderness, bow in hand, quiver over my back,” Clint stopped to chuckle, savouring the memory. “It didn't take long for them to put me in front of someone in charge – apparently our colony hadn't been the only one affected. Their people had gotten sick too, but they'd managed to develop a cure in time to save most of them.”

“I thought I'd have to bargain with them, to come and help,” he admitted, “I had no idea what to expect – my people weren't exactly fans of the Federation. So you can imagine my surprise when I didn't even have to ask, they just flat out told me they were going to help and did I need anything before we went?”

He chuckled again. Clint looked back on that moment as the one that set up the rest of his life – it was the first expectation about the Federation he'd had that had been shattered, but it definitely hadn't been the last.

“That same day I was taken back to my home in a shuttlecraft, a whole team of doctors and nurses riding with us. My journey to find them had taken weeks, but the trip back only took a couple of hours!”

He paused to take a leisurely sip of his drink, enjoying the way that even the people who'd heard the story before had their attention fixed on him – he only wished he was coming up to an exciting moment in the story, not a painful one.

Roma finally broke the silence, “What happened? Did you get there in time to …?”

Clint shook his head, his gaze dropping to stare into the flames. His throat tightened up as he remembered the looks on the faces of the people in his community, as soon as they saw he'd come back – the sympathetic glances exchanged between them, the sorrow in their eyes.

He cleared his throat and forced the words out. “They saved half our colony, but my parents were already gone by the time we arrived.”

Nat's brow furrowed, “I'm sorry,” she said, sincerely, and he knew she understood – hell, they all did.

He rolled his shoulders, shaking off the moment, and shrugged. “I didn't have any reason to stay after that – I went back to the Federation colony, and from there ended up travelling all over the place. I eventually wound up at the Academy-”

“You were Starfleet?” Roma interrupted, surprised.

Clint's eyebrows rose, he'd thought she'd known. “Yeah – I'm hardly the only one,” he said, giving Ro a pointed look. She met his eyes for a second, then looked away. It was still a sore subject for her.

He curled himself forward slightly, staring down into his drink. “One day I came across some classified files – found out that the 'fleet had investigated the illness on Galion, but that it hadn't been any old sickness that had wiped my people out. It was engineered, a deliberate attempt to wipe us out.”

“The Cardassians,” Roma supplied, not sounding at all surprised.

“Right. The Federation was at war with them at the time – but apparently Galion wasn't important enough for them to do anything about it, especially after the war was over. Hell, maybe they hoped that by turning the whole planet over to the Spoonheads they'd kill two birds with one arrow.”

His grip on his mug had become far too tight, his anger was still so fresh and raw, even after – what was it, over a year now?

Clint let out a noisy breath, trying to let go of the worst of the rage – there was a time and a place, and now wasn't either. He mustered up a smile, even if he was sure it was a little rough around the edges, and shrugged. “But like you said Nat, what more is there to say? I'm sure each and every one of us has a story just like it – we wouldn't be here otherwise.”

“Right,” Roma agreed, but just for a second there was something oddly troubled about her gaze.

~

If Clint was gonna die it sure as hell wasn't going to be on some dump of a planet in the middle of the Badlands.

He hated to admit it, but the Cardies had gotten the drop on them. A handful of Maquis ships had been meeting a freighter outside the Badlands to pick up a huge shipment of supplies. When they'd detected a small fleet of Cardie vessels coming at them, they'd fallen back to the Badlands to play their usual game of cat and mouse. But when the fleet failed to pursue, they'd just considered themselves lucky this time and continued on to the planet they were using as a stash for supplies.

It wasn't until they'd all landed and begun unpacking supplies, when an entire platoon of Cardie soldiers had emerged from where they'd been hiding in the cave systems, that they realised someone had tipped them off about this base's location – and the supply run too.

But they'd have to worry about that later, they had more important things to worry about right now.

A disruptor beam sizzled overhead, striking the roof of the cave and showering Clint's head in rock fragments and dust. He quickly ducked out of the way, rolling behind a supply container and coming up on the other side of it, Klingon disruptor in hand. It only took a second for him to squint through the hazy air and spot the Cardie who'd shot at him, and then another second for his finger to squeeze the trigger.

Another perfect shot, as always.

Clint smiled grimly as he darted along the corridor tunnelled into the cave system, seeking out another target.

A couple of months had passed since their visit to Marva IV. The Maquis were starting to do some serious damage to the Cardassian forces, both in the DMZ and in their own territory. And sympathy for them among the Federation was growing – well, not the entire Federation. For every Starfleet officer that defected, it seemed as if those that remained loyal to the Fleet hit back even harder.

But change was in the air, Clint could smell it.

Tension between the Union and the Federation was growing – and there had even been some rumblings of Klingon support, though Clint wasn't one to take rumours at face value. Whatever happened, he knew the Maquis were an important part of it – and if it came to another war, he doubted the Federation would actually fight against them. As soon as the Cardassians became mutual enemies, he was sure the Maquis would be welcomed back with open arms. Whether they wanted to go back though, that was another issue altogether.

It hadn't been all good news though. It had been months since Chakotay's ship had gone missing in the Badlands – and apparently a Fleet vessel had been lost out there too. Which was a damn shame, Chakotay still owed Clint two strips of latinum from their last poker game. And Nat had been visibly worried about Seska and B'Elanna, which wasn't like her at all.

Speaking of Nat – “On your six Roma!” Clint called out across the cavern. A Cardie was sneaking up behind her, using the two other Cardies she was fighting as a distraction to get the drop on her. Clint raised his disruptor to take one of them out, but lost his line of sight when Ro came tumbling through, grappling with another Cardie.

He shot it in the knee for her as he ran forward, trying to see what was happening to Roma. The Cardie that'd been behind her was now sprawled across the floor, his face bloody – though whether he was dead or just knocked out, Clint couldn't tell.

Roma had her thighs wrapped around another one's neck and was using her leverage to send it tumbling into the ground. She came out of the move upright and smirked as she turned to face him – but as soon as she did her eyes widened, “Clint!” she called out.

He didn't even think, just ducked as soon as the first syllable of his name had passed her lips. The Cardie that had been trying to knock him out with the butt of his disruptor pistol overbalanced and stumbled head first over Clint's crouched form.

He shot it with his disruptor for good measure, but by the time he was upright again he was too late to do anything but watch as the third Cardie Roma had been fighting took advantage of her distraction to hit her in the back of the head with his fist. She went straight down, her head cracking against a protruding rock on the ground.

“Nat!” Clint roared, adrenaline and panic surging through him. He snarled and shot the Cardie in the face as he leaped over the fallen Cardie at his feet to get to Roma.

She was crumpled on the dirt floor, blood oozing out of a head wound, but when he placed two fingers on the side of her neck he felt her pulse flutter.

He had to get her to safety and treat her injuries. Without even thinking about his own safety, Clint reached down and hoisted Roma up and over his shoulder. He still held the disruptor loosely in his hand, but he wasn't going to be able to do much with it – at least not without time to put Nat down first.

Clint ran out of the cavern, towards the corridors leading to the smaller caves containing their supplies. As he ran he dodged past fist fights and skirted around fallen bodies. The hazy, dust-filled air was an advantage to them, it obscured them from view – but it also made it nearly impossible to tell if he was about to run into a Cardassian or not.

He had more than a couple of close encounters, was shot at as soon as they realised what he was, but he didn't stop, just kept running, not even giving himself time to think about the strain in his muscles or the weight of Roma. He'd have time to be in pain later.

He ran, deeper and deeper into the tunnels and caves, until the air began to clear and the noise of the fighting receded to a distant echo.

It was only when he reached a secluded cave, filled with supply crates and containers, that Clint finally stopped, panting for breath. He set Roma down in the farthest corner from the entrance, sliding some of the crates around to obscure her from view.

Roma stirred, eyelids flickering but not opening as she moaned in pain. “Shhh, Nat, you're safe,” Clint whispered, running a hand gently over her forehead. “I'm just going to find a medkit, I'll be right back.”

He slipped over the top of the crates and slunk back out into the corridor, making his way cautiously but quickly back towards where he knew the medical supplies were stashed.

He was busy rifling through a container, pulling out supplies he thought he might need to treat concussion and blood loss, when he heard a pair of voices echoing up the corridor. He flattened himself behind the doorway, his disruptor clutched in a white knuckled grip, and listened.

“She was supposed to have been in touch by now,” one of the voices was saying.

“I know – she must have been caught in the fighting,” the other replied.

They didn't sound like any Maquis Clint knew, which meant that most likely they were Cardassians, searching the base for something – or someone, apparently.

“How are we supposed to retrieve the asset if she doesn't get in touch? We can't just round up every Bajoran woman and take them with us, Tain would have us shot for sheer incompetence.”

Clint's heart began to speed up. Tain – as in Enabran Tain, head of the Obsidian Order? The Order had an asset here, among the Maquis? An asset who was a _Bajoran woman_?

For a long moment Clint thought he might give up his position by throwing up noisily all over the floor. But he clamped his jaw shut tightly and held his breath until the feeling passed.

There was no reason to assume anything, he tried to reason with himself, there were plenty of Bajoran women in the Maquis.

Yeah, a traitorous thought piped up, plenty of Bajoran women who could take down Cardassians twice their size with moves that made Orion acrobats look clumsy.

“Don't worry, she'll be in touch – I've seen Rovat in action, there's no way these military fools could take her down,” the second voice replied, right outside the cave Clint was hiding in.

“You've seen her? Is she as beautiful as they say?”

The pair continued gossiping until their voices grew distant. Clint sat, frozen, listening to the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears. When he finally moved he looked down at the medical supplies he'd gathered and wondered if there was any point bringing them. Then he shook his head firmly, his jaw clenched. He needed to revive Roma if he was going to interrogate her.

~

The first thing Roma saw when her eyes fluttered open was Clint pointing a Klingon disruptor directly at her face.

“Oh good, you're back with us,” Clint said cheerfully – but his smile was cold, his eyes even colder.

“C-clint?” Roma said, confused.

“Yep, that's me, Clint Barton,” he confirmed. “Glad to see slamming your head into a rock didn't affect your memory. Or did it? Tell me, would you prefer I call you Roma Natal, or Agent Rovat?”

For a minute Nat's gaze remained as blank as ever, her brow furrowed slightly with confusion or pain. For that minute Clint began to hope that this entire thing was a misunderstanding.

Then Roma frowned, “I- I don't know,” she said at last.

Clint felt his eyebrows spasm. He clenched his jaw even tighter, gripped the disruptor so hard he could feel the edge of a rivet digging into his palm.

“Don't play me Rovat!” he snapped, mind still reeling at the betrayal. “I heard your Spoonhead buddies looking for you!”

Rovat winced, and, before Clint could tell her not to, had raised a hand to clutch her head. But that was all she did. Clint knew that, even with a disruptor trained right at her face, she still had a chance of taking him down – but she just gripped her temple and winced harder.

“I can't remember … there have been so many names,” she admitted. “I … am Natima Rovat,” she confirmed, though she sounded uncertain, “I was … born in Lakarian City … no … what … I don't understand!” She winced yet again, eyes squeezing shut. She sounded genuine, but Clint still wasn't buying it. This was exactly the sort of thing Order agents were trained to do.

“This act isn't very convincing,” he said, tone cold, hand not moving a millimetre.

Rovat took a deep breath and looked at Clint, “I am an agent of the Obsidian Order, my mission was to go undercover and gather intel on the Maquis – enough for the Order to take you out,” she confessed. “I was … surgically altered to appear Bajoran, but I am … Cardassian.” She frowned at this last sentence, staring off at the ground.

Clint didn't understand, why was she spilling all of this? What was she hoping to achieve? She was working some kind of angle here, but he honestly couldn't figure out what it was. His grip tightened on his disruptor, finger inching towards the trigger.

Rovat looked up at him, saw what he was about to do, and simply looked resigned to her fate. But something about her wild eyed appearance still wasn't sitting right with Clint.

“You don't sound very convinced,” he said at last, “About being Cardassian.”

“I am loyal to the Cardassian Union!” Rovat replied instantly, fiercely – but as soon as she had the certainty fell away, leaving her looking confused more than anything.

Clint should have shot her. Every second he wasted was a second that she was waiting for him to slip before taking him down. She had already admitted to being a Cardassian, sent to spy on them, to give the Union enough information to wipe out the Maquis entirely.

Clint lowered his disruptor.

Rovat looked more shocked than if he had shot her.

“Nat, what's going on here?” he asked her, genuinely confused. “Why haven't you taken me out already and gone to join your Order buddies? They've been waiting for you to contact them – that's what this attack was, wasn't it? A diversion to retrieve their asset?”

Rovat opened her mouth to respond, still looking startled – doubly so that he'd figured out the real purpose behind the Cardie's attack. Then she looked down at his lowered disruptor, as if he was supposed to believe that was what was stopping her.

Clint rolled his eyes, “I've seen you get out of worse,” he said, derisively, but then he faltered, “Oh, wait, did those Cardies let you go?”

“No!” Rovat retorted hotly – apparently whatever was going on here hadn't affected her sense of pride. “My mission was highly classified. The military had no idea I was any different from any other Maquis.”

“Alright, alright,” Clint placated her, “But you're just proving my point here. You could have busted my ass the second you woke up and gotten out of here before I even knew what hit me.” He stepped closer, looking into her eyes, “But you didn't. Why?”

Rovat stared back at him, eyes wide. “I don't want to go back,” she blurted out, “I don't want to, you can't make me!” Then she shut her mouth again and looked away, eyes darting back and forth as she stared at a spot on the ground, her brow furrowed.

Clint holstered his disruptor and crouched down in front of her. As soon as Rovat saw this she squirmed backwards away from him – the first movement she'd made with her body since waking up – and drew her knees up to her chest protectively, curling her arms around them.

Clint just waited patiently, the minutes drawing out in silence.

“Something happened to me,” Rovat said at last, glancing up at him over her knees, “When I hit my head.”

“What sort of something?” Clint asked, after another minute passed in silence. He hadn't moved from his crouch – if there was one thing he'd learned from hunting it was how to wait, perfectly still, until the prey came to you.

Rovat wet her lips before speaking again. “I remember … growing up in Lakarian City. I had four siblings – all sisters. Our mother was a scientist. Our father was a Glinn – he died during the war against the Federation.” Her voice was steady, certain, but when she met Clint's eyes he could tell she didn't believe a word she'd said.

“Now …” she went on, “I don't understand how, but I have new memories. Of growing up.” She frowned, “I remember … dirt, so much dirt, and mines cutting deeper and deeper into the earth. And there was always a buzz in the air … a forcefield.” She met Clint's eyes. “Where is Hutet?” she asked.

“It was a labour camp, on Cardassia IV,” he answered, surprised. But the puzzle pieces were beginning to fall into place. “Is that where you grew up?”

“ _I don't know_!” Rovat snapped, fingers digging into her knees. For a split second Clint's hand went for his disruptor, then he saw the desperation and fear in her eyes.

“Hey, shhh, Nat, it's okay,” he soothed, “We'll figure it out, don't worry, it's going to be okay.”

“You have to get me out of here,” she said, beginning to sound desperate.

“I will,” he assured her, “Don't worry, the Cardassians won't get to you.”

“No,” she countered, “Out of the Maquis. They can't help me – but Starfleet can. You need to take me to Starfleet.” The certainty was back in her eyes again, but it was like he was really seeing her for the first time. Roma had had the same look plenty of times on missions, but compared to the one he was seeing now it was a pale imitation at best, a charade enacted for their benefit.

“What makes you think I could get you to Starfleet?” he asked, incredulous.

Rovat rolled her eyes at him. “Oh please, I know you're Starfleet Intelligence – or you were, before you stopped reporting in six months ago. If you contact them now, tell them you're bringing in an Order agent, they'll come for you.”

Clint reeled. No one knew he was an SI agent, not even Ro. But if Rovat knew … “You really think that, even if I could get a message to Starfleet, which I'm not saying I can, that I'd just hand deliver you to them? Really?”

Rovat looked away, at the cave wall, he could see her biting the inside of her cheek – it was a gesture he'd never noticed her make before. “Take me in cuffs, if you have to. Sedate me. Hold a disruptor to my head. I'll do whatever you want Clint. But I need to find out … I need to know who I am, and what the Cardassians did to me. Please, Clint.”

She turned back to face him, letting him study her face. If this was a play, it was a damn good one.

“What makes you think Starfleet can help you?” he asked, and she knew he was caving in. Her smile, small and troubled as it was, actually seemed genuine.

“I'm still trying to sort out these memories – I'm only getting fragments, bits and pieces,” she explained, “But there are two names … and faces, that keep reoccurring. A man … Doctor Romanova. And a woman … Commander Romanova.”

Clint's eyebrows rose, “Commander as in Starfleet?”

Rovat nodded, “I think so, I get glimpses of the uniform – the old, maroon ones.”

Clint whistled low, through his teeth. He took a deep breath. One of these days he was gonna get himself killed, with his questionable decisions.

“Alright,” he agreed finally, “I'll take you to Starfleet.”

Nat smiled at him, uncurling herself slowly, “Thank you.”

Clint shook his head, “Don't thank me yet. We still have to get off this rock and back to normal space before I can contact my handler – and there are a couple of Order goons out there looking for you.”

Rovat looked fierce, “They won't be a problem,” she announced, smoothly getting to her feet. She didn't even wobble once.

Clint's eyebrows rose, “I think you're forgetting the little issue of the head wound I just treated.”

Rovat lifted a hand to tentatively feel her forehead, “You did a good job,” she told him. “And I've had much worse,” she added. Then, before he could argue, she slunk past him and over the crates. “Wait here,” she whispered over her shoulder.

Clint of course did no such thing – he rushed to the crates, but in the second it took him to peer after her, she'd already disappeared into the shadows.

Clint had already known Nat was a force to be reckoned with – he'd chalked it up to the fury inherent in most Bajorans who grew up during the Occupation – but now that he knew she was actually a professional spy and assassin, trained by the _Obsidian Order_? Now he was terrified.

~

Maquis might won out against the Cardassians, as Clint knew it would.

Within a couple of hours they'd cleared the base and loaded up all their supplies – they couldn't stay here, now the Union knew about it, but luckily there were plenty of nondescript, cave-riddled planets and moons in the Badlands. They left the remains of the Cardies where they were and within a few hours had stashed their supplies at another base and made their way out of the Badlands back towards the rest of the DMZ.

When Rovat had returned for Clint, looking the same as ever but assuring him the problem had been taken care of, she was already back in her Roma persona.

Clint couldn't help darting glances at her, trying to see if there was anything she did that should have given her away, but even knowing what he did nothing had changed. She moved like a Bajoran Resistance fighter, not an Order agent. And she still had no problem cursing out the Cardies along with everyone else, as they loaded up supplies after the attack.

It didn't take long for Ro to notice the odd looks he kept giving Roma, she quirked her eyebrows at him, a knowing smile on her lips.

But when Clint opened his mouth to argue that it wasn't what it looked like, Roma interrupted, “Clint, can you come and help me with something?” She even fluttered her eyelashes at him suggestively, earning a few sniggers from the others – Clint gave them dirty looks as he followed Roma out into a corridor.

She pressed him up against the wall and kissed him, her mouth a sharp pressure against his. Clint froze. He wasn't going to lie, he'd thought about doing this, with Roma. The constant close quarters and adrenaline did that to you, after a while. But this wasn't Roma, it was Rovat – and up until a couple of hours ago, she'd been a Cardassian masquerading as a Bajoran, just biding her time before betraying them. Betraying him.

Clint moved to push her away, but she tightened her grip on him, her nails digging into his arms, and kissed her way along his jaw to his ear.

Over her shoulder, Clint saw one of the others leaving the corridor, laughing to themselves.

“Are you trying to give me away?” Rovat asked, as soon as they were alone, her sweet tone barely hiding her anger. “I thought you were a professional.”

Clint swallowed heavily, “Sorry, I'm a bit … out of practice.” He felt like an idiot, his time with the Maquis really had affected him it seemed. He still couldn't wrap his head around the magnitude of Nat's betrayal – but he was going to have to push his feelings aside, if he was going to get them out of here without giving either of them away.

“You know it wasn't personal,” she said softly, pulling away to look at him.

Clint flinched and looked away, he hated that she could read him so easily, that he'd let her get so close – trusted her. “I know,” he lied.

“Clint,” she murmured, brow furrowing.

“Now's not the time, or place,” he reminded her, gently setting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her away.

Nat nodded, “Of course.” Then she reached forward and ruffled his hair. “It will be a useful cover,” she pointed out, musing her own hair and biting on her lower lip until it looked thoroughly kissed.

“Good idea,” Clint agreed, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest.

Rovat searched his face for a moment, an unreadable expression on her face. Then, right in front of his eyes, she slipped back into Roma, adopting a satisfied little smirk before she slunk back to help the others, her hips swinging, arriving to a chorus of wolf whistles and laughter.

Clint clenched his fists together and grit his teeth, letting himself silently express his rage just for a moment. Then he schooled his features to fit the scenario – a pleased smirk, looseness in his limbs. He was a professional dammit, all he had to do was get Rovat to Starfleet, then he could go back to the Maquis and pretend none of this had ever happened.

~

“Hawkeye to Shield. Come in Shield.”

Two days after the ambush in the Badlands, Clint, Nat and the rest of Ro's cell were planning their next move from one of their outposts in the Terikof Belt. They'd waited until everyone had finally gone to bed, then snuck away under the guise of finding a little 'privacy'. Rovat had been right about the cover being useful.

Clint had activated his subcutaneous communicator for the first time in over six months, then piggybacked his signal – on the last SI frequency he'd used – on the back of the datastream that constantly transmitted information about the current state of the Badlands to other planets and stations in the DMZ. The outpost was one of a dozen, originally set up by the Federation to monitor the Badlands, but when the DMZ was established they'd abandoned it and all the other outposts in the Belt. The Maquis mostly used them as the staging grounds for attacks, or to rendezvous with other cells, rather than as permanent bases.

Clint wasn't sure if he'd get a response. And he knew he had to be careful – if the Maquis detected his signal he'd be hard-pressed to explain.

If this didn't work he'd have to seek out one of the other undercover SI agents who had to have infiltrated the Maquis since he went AWOL – he didn't know these agents personally of course, but between him and Rovat he was sure they'd find at least one.

Rovat kept watch while they waited. Whenever she saw anyone go past she'd start moaning and calling out his name – Clint flushed pink every time, and would only join in her charade when she kicked him and gave him a pointed look. Luckily he'd only needed to the once, when a trio had come stumbling past, laughing and singing bawdy drinking songs. They'd heard the noises and immediately broke into cheers – Clint could have sworn he saw Rovat trying to hold back a laugh at that, but it was too dark to tell.

Almost an hour after he started broadcasting, Clint was startled to hear a reply.

“This is Shield. Please repeat identification.” The voice was modified, mechanised, giving nothing away.

Clint sucked in a startled breath and shot Rovat a look, thankfully no one had passed in the last twenty minutes, so everything was silent. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

He knew the protocols that must be running in place, now that they'd detected his signal – they would be suspicious, naturally, so he'd have to convince them he was who he said he was.

“This is Hawkeye, service number TK-719-402,” he replied.

He waited expectantly for their response, the silence growing oppressive around them. The familiar surge of adrenaline was coursing through him now – the possibility of getting caught a constant weight in the back of his mind.

“Status report?” the voice asked.

Now Clint had to weight up his options carefully – he was just as suspicious as they were. There was no reason to assume that it was SI on the other end of the comm, it would be very easy for the Cardassians, or even the Maquis to tap into the frequency.

But all the codes and protocols he knew were six months old now. And presumably changed after he hadn't reported in. Still, he had to try.

“Request Shield ID – as of stardate 48013.7,” he said.

“SI-tango-433-alpha-029,” the voice responded immediately. “Request status report.”

Well the code was right – but that could easily have been found by the Cardies. Unfortunately, he didn't exactly have a lot of options here.

Clint let out a noisy breath. “Location … DMZ. Request extraction, plus guest.”

The silence stretched on. Clint looked over at Rovat, she was watching him patiently, cautiously. As the minutes drew on, Clint was getting ready to suggest they leave, that his signal had been compromised.

Then his comm line crackled, “Hawkeye, I wasn't expecting to hear from you again.”

Clint's heart sped up. “To be honest sir, I wasn't expecting to contact you any time soon,” he admitted.

“I see.” There was a pause, Clint felt guilt squeeze his throat for the first time in a long time. “I assume this guest of yours is what brought on this … change of heart?”

Clint had served with his handler for long enough that he knew what the other man was implying. He snorted, “My … heart, hasn't changed,” he assured him. “In fact,” he took a deep breath, “I only plan on staying long enough to ensure my guest arrives safely.”

“I see.” If Clint had felt guilty before, it was nothing on the sheer volume of disappointment crammed into those two little words. He looked up at Rovat, but she'd moved further back into the shadows, so he couldn't decipher the look on her face.

“So how are we going to do this?” Clint asked. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

“You don't actually expect me to arrange an extraction based on what you've given me, do you?”

Clint frowned, “I don't know if this channel is secure. I can't give you any more.”

Rovat moved towards him at that, “Tell him I can give them information on the fleet in the Orias system,” she whispered. Clint's eyebrows shot up.

“I'm afraid you've lost your extraction privileges Hawkeye,” his handler said, dryly.

Clint cleared this throat, “My guest says they can share information about the fleet in the Orias system,” he said.

He'd heard the rumours of course, they all had – Tom Riker and his cell had staged a hell of an assault, stealing one of Starfleet's most valuable ships right out from under their noses. All because of rumours that the Cardassians were assembling a fleet in the Orias system, to take the Maquis out. But no one really knew what they found in the system – Riker and his cell had been taken into custody by Starfleet. There were rumours going around that the fleet was actually being assembled by the Order – if that was the case, then Rovat could very well know something about it.

Or she could just be using it as a way to get Starfleet to take an interest. Either way, it got them what they wanted.

His handler was silent for a moment. “Ronara Prime, three days. There's a little bar on the corner of Kelic street and the main boulevard. 2200 hours.”

“Understood,” Clint replied. Then the channel was cut.

Rovat looked at him expectantly. Clint gave her a grim smile, “You and I have a little travelling to do. I assume you have a plan?”

She frowned, assessing him for another moment before speaking. “Did you mean what you said? Do you really want to come back here, after?”

Clint scowled at her and folded his arms over his chest. “If I hadn't wanted to stay then I wouldn't have. The only reason I got in touch again was because of you, you know that.”

She tilted her head, still frowning, “I still don't understand why. You're risking your life here, just to help me. Even though I'm your enemy.”

“If you were my enemy you would have killed me by now,” Clint pointed out. “I know this is hard for you to get your head around, being a Cardassian and all, but I used to be a Starfleet officer – and we like to give people the benefit of the doubt. You say you want their help, I assume you know that means you're going to have to give them information, in return?”

Rovat nodded, brow still furrowed, “Of course.”

“And what do you think is going to happen, if they can unlock your memories, and help you find out what happened to you?”

“I … don't know,” Rovat admitted, staring down at the ground, “I assumed that the Federation would keep me as a prisoner until I was no longer of any use to them.”

Clint choked on his own saliva. He coughed and spluttered for breath for a few minutes, and when he looked back up Rovat looked concerned. For the first time since he'd found out the truth, Clint honestly believed that Rovat was genuine – if she was willing to go to her death, just to find out the truth about her memories, then she had to be.

“The Federation doesn't kill its prisoners,” he finally said, outraged. “Once you 'stop being of use to them' they will probably grant you asylum, let you live out the rest of your life as a Federation citizen – _that's_ why I'm risking my life. The Maquis … wouldn't react in the same way.”

Rovat's eyebrows rose, “It doesn't sound like you approve – but if what you say is true, then I think your Federation is a little too trusting.”

“Better to be too trusting than not trust anyone at all,” Clint retorted.

Rovat's gaze became calculating. “That’s why you're helping me,” she said slowly, as if she was figuring it out as she spoke, “Despite learning the truth … you still trust me.”

Clint flushed hotly, but before he could say anything to refute her, Rovat went on.

“And despite joining the Maquis … it is the Federation, and Starfleet, that you trust, not the Maquis. Even after all these months, your loyalty still lies with Starfleet.”

Clint opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She was right. He trusted SI to help Rovat, not the Maquis. Even after deserting them, he knew that when he made the call they'd be there for him. This realisation shook Clint to his core.

Rovat placed her hand on Clint's shoulder, startling him. Her eyes were sympathetic – like they were on the night that he told the story about why he joined the Maquis.

“I think you should come back with me,” she said softly.

Clint swallowed and stared into her eyes for a long minute. Then he nodded, “Yeah, I think you're right.”

~

Clint had been to this bar before, when he'd first begun his assignment to infiltrate the Maquis. It seemed fitting that things would end here as well.

He and Rovat had stolen a small ship in the middle of the night – and sabotaged the other ships on the outpost, and the communications system, so they couldn't be followed. Not badly mind you, they wouldn't leave their friends in danger like that, but they couldn't risk being caught.

He'd left a note for Ro, explaining, ' _Roma and I had a change of heart. No hard feelings._ ' She'd understand. Unlike the others, he knew some of the details of her story.

“Principal, fancy meeting you here,” he greeted his handler, as they slid into the booth seat across from him.

“Hawkeye,” Principal nodded, glancing over him before turning to Rovat.

“deThka,” she introduced herself, with a tiny smile.

Principal's eyebrows shot up. He fixed Clint with an incredulous look, but Clint's own eyebrows had raised in shock.

“You're _the_ deThka?” he asked, voice an accusing hiss, “You never told me that!”

Rovat shrugged one shoulder, her lips curled up at the corner. “You never asked.”

“I assume,” Principal said mildly, “From the fact that we're not all dead already, that there's something you'd like us to do for you.”

Rovat let her amused smirk fall, her expression turning serious. “I need your help. I want to defect to the Federation.”

It was like a silencing device had been used around their booth. The rest of the bar continued on, voices talking and laughing, a wall of noise that abruptly cut off when it reached them.

“I see,” Principal said. Clint had learned to decipher every possible interpretation of his handler's 'I see's over the years, and this was the rarely heard 'You can't be serious, have I accidentally crossed over into a parallel reality again?' I see.

Once the shock had worn off, he turned to face Clint, demanding an explanation through his eyes alone.

“I can be of great value to you,” Rovat went on, before Clint could say anything, “I am willing to divulge _all_ my knowledge of the inner workings of … my organisation, and my people more broadly.”

“You can't honestly expect me to believe this,” Principal countered, “I can't think of anything that would make such an important, valued asset be willing to turn against her own people.”

He looked at Clint again, clearly not believing his claim that this meeting hadn't been arranged because he and Rovat were involved.

Clint scowled at him, “How about finding out that this asset might have been … created, against her will? Or that her parents might have been Federation citizens? Is that reason enough?”

Rovat winced almost imperceptibly at this revelation, glancing surreptitiously around the bar.

If Principal's eyebrows kept going up like that, Clint was worried his face would get stuck that way. “I'm sorry?” Principal replied, Clint had never seen him so thrown – usually he was completely composed, no matter what the situation.

Rovat leaned in closer, fixing her steely gaze on Principal, who returned it without flinching – no easy feat. “It's true. Hawkeye witnessed my … cognitive recalibration. It's why I've come to you – if my own people find me, I believe they will … reverse the damage.”

“Cognitive recalibration?” Principal queried.

“She was hit on the head,” Clint clarified, “Her memories began to return after that.”

Principal finally looked like he was on solid ground in this conversation. “I see. So you want our help learning the truth, in exchange for information about your people?”

Rovat nodded. “I can give you more concrete details, once we are … less exposed.”

Principal considered this for a few minutes, glancing between Rovat and Clint. Then he nodded, “Okay, I can help you.”

Rovat actually smiled at that and Clint felt his heart flutter – he'd seen Roma smile plenty of times, but this … this was genuine.

“Follow me,” Principal said, rising from his seat and making his way across the bar.

“See, I told you,” Clint whispered to Rovat, as they followed him.

They were just reaching the exit when a pair of Cardassian soldiers stepped through the doorway, holding disruptor rifles. “There she is!” one of them barked, pointing straight at Rovat.

Everything was a blur after that.

People began screaming and running, while others had their weapons out as soon as they realised what was happening.

Clint, Principal and Rovat were all highly trained professionals, so they didn't even stop to think before dropping to the ground and moving for cover.

The Cardassians had their rifles up and shot at the place they'd been before they realised their targets had already moved.

Clint had his Klingon disruptor out the second he was crouched behind a booth. He leaned out for long enough to sight his target then ducked back out again and took his shot.

He glanced over to see Principal, a Starfleet phaser in hand, behind a fallen table.

Rovat was nowhere to be seen.

Unfortunately, the two Cardassians had only been part of an entire platoon of soldiers sent to find Rovat. More of them poured in through the doorway, and soon it was a free-for-all. Civilians ran, or cowered. Maquis, or maybe they were just armed, angry civilians, who could say, began taking shots at the Cardies, turning over tables and using the bar for cover.

Energy beams sizzled overhead, in a dazzling array of colours.

“Follow me,” Rovat hissed, suddenly behind him. Clint jumped, but before he could say or do anything she'd already disappeared, re-emerging next to Principal. Clint scowled when he didn't jump or even look surprised.

The three of them scrambled across the room, taking shots over their shoulders as they went, moving from table to booth seat to table. “This way,” Rovat whispered, slinking up a doorway that led to an upstairs.

Clint saw her silhouette dart up the stairs. He exchanged a glance with Principal, who gave him a grim smile before they followed.

Other civilians had apparently thought to retreat here as well. They cowered as Clint passed and for a minute he felt sorry for leaving them here to deal with the Cardassians.

Rovat was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, poised to enter a closed door. “I assume you have a ship in the shuttleport?” she asked Principal. They'd left their own Maquis ship in a safe location, for their friends to retrieve. It was the least they could do.

Principal raised his eyebrows, “Surely they'll be expecting us to go there.”

Her lips quirked and Clint was immediately glad that she was on their side. “Just tell me which one it is. You and Hawkeye can even wait here, if you'd prefer to avoid any danger,” she teased, eyebrow raised.

“I'll point it out to you,” Principal assured her, his own lips twitching in amusement.

Rovat looked delighted. She nodded once, then turned and kicked a panel next to the door.

It whooshed open, revealing a couple in a state of undress. The Klingon woman bellowed at them, firing a disruptor straight at Rovat, who ducked and rolled into the room, anticipating the shot.

Clint and Principal let out a startled yell, dodging backwards to avoid getting hit.

“Try to keep up!” Rovat called back, already running through the room. She neatly slapped a panel on the wall, dropping the forcefield over the window, as she flipped through the air straight through the now open window.

“Excuse us ma'am, zir,” Principal said, as he and Clint ran through the room.

They didn't even stop to think, just leapt out the window after Rovat – Clint had a second to panic before he registered the neighbouring rooftop rushing up as they fell. His training kicked in and he rolled into it, coming up on his feet and sprinting after Rovat, who was already halfway across the roof.

From out here they could hear the ruckus still going on in the bar. And as Clint ran he took a second to glance down at the main boulevard – it was swarming with Cardassian soldiers, running civilians, and the local law enforcement, which had apparently only just arrived on the scene, armed with Starfleet-issue phaser rifles.

“Were those Starfleet weapons I saw back there?” he asked Principal, as they followed Rovat off the rooftop. Old-fashioned glass shattered as she tumbled gracefully through a first storey window. Clint felt it crunch underfoot as he landed on the tiled floor a few seconds later.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Principal replied, throwing him his usual mild smile, before they followed Rovat out the door and up five flights of stairs.

They were in some sort of office building, Clint noted, recalling the layout of the city. This was the tallest building in the area, surrounded by some other fairly tall buildings. The shuttleport was on the east side of the city, about seven blocks away from their current location.

Rovat took them to the roof, from which they briefly surveyed what was going on at street level. Clint was grateful for the opportunity to catch his breath, though he knew they weren't going to stay here for long.

“It won't take them to long to realise you've escaped,” Principal noted.

Rovat nodded, “Another five minutes, I'd say.” She gave them a wry smile, “They're only soldiers after all.” She inclined her head towards the shuttleport, a large, brightly lit structure in the distance. “It will take us at least ten minutes to get there, but that should be enough time.”

Clint and Principal exchanged glances, but they didn't exactly have much of a choice.

“Right. Let's get going then,” Clint said, pleased at the approving smile Rovat gave him before she leapt off the building to land on its neighbour's roof – two storeys below.

~

The shuttleport was swarming with people when they arrived – they watched the action from the top of the nearest building, crouching down to avoid being seen as they assessed their next move.

A couple dozen Cardassian soldiers were swarming around the ships. Many of the ships had their engines warming up, getting ready to leave. The Cardassians had already forcibly boarded most of them, searching for Rovat.

“It sure doesn't look like they're trying to get you back alive,” Principal pointed out, looking over at Rovat. She'd pulled out a tiny pair of binoculars that Clint had never even seen before and was using it to study the route to the small Klingon scout vessel Principal had arrived in. It sat, dark and nondescript, at the far end of the hangar from their location.

“These fools aren't the ones who were sent to collect me,” she explained, snorting derisively as a Cardie soldier came flying out of one of the ships he'd been trying to inspect, a hole shot clean through his chest. “They're just here to provide a distraction.”

“What?” Clint hissed.

“I would have preferred knowing that sooner,” Principal agreed.

Rovat shrugged at them, “It shouldn't affect us. They're waiting for us in that ship there.” She pointed to a Lissepian courier vessel, closer to this entrance of the hanger.

“Why there?” Clint asked, “Surely if they know we're here, they'd know which ship Principal came in.”

“Exactly,” Rovat said, “Which means they assumed that I assumed they'd be waiting there, and chose another ship to escape in.”

Principal frowned, “Why the Lissepian ship?”

“It's the fastest vessel here. Close to our point of entry, and I've flown them before – the engines warm up so quickly the soldiers won't even realise we're gone until it's too late.”

“But surely,” Clint interjected, “If they assume that you assume that – oh hell, I just mean, what if they're waiting in Principal's ship?”

Rovat inclined her head, “It is a possibility. But I know how they think. Trust me.”

Principal looked over at Clint at that. He shrugged. He did trust Rovat, but even if he didn't, what choice did they really have here?

“Alright, what's our approach?” Principal asked, looking out over the hanger. There wasn't a clear point of entry – whichever way they went in, they were going to be seen.

Rovat blinked at him, “I don't see that we have any options here,” she said.

Principal's lips thinned into a line. “Guns blazing it is,” he agreed.

Clint's heart sped up – but he had to admit to feeling thrilled more than terrified. That probably said something about him, and he doubted it was anything good. The SI counsellors had always had a field day with him.

Rovat reached into her jacket and tossed a Cardassian disruptor over to Clint, who caught it neatly.

“Don't you need this?” he asked, frowning.

Rovat withdrew a Breen disruptor as well as another Cardassian disruptor from her jacket. “I'm good,” she assured him. She looked over at Principal, who shook his head at her, drawing a second Starfleet phaser from his own jacket.

Rovat then tossed over a long, thin cable with a clasp at each end – one for Clint, another for Principal, and a third for herself. She looped it securely around her waist, clasping it in place, then held up the larger clasp. Clint and Principal mimicked her actions.

Then Rovat unclipped a slender, gun-like object from a belt. She placed its base on top of the ledge they were hiding behind on the rooftop, then tapped a button on top – it immediately launched out four metal spikes that latched deep into the stone, securing it in place.

“Where is she hiding all this stuff?” Clint muttered to Principal.

Rovat then crouched down, almost lying across the floor to sight her target with the other end of the device. When she was satisfied she tapped the trigger – a metal, arrow-like tip shot forth, bridging the distance between their rooftop and the lowest section of the hanger's outer wall in a matter of seconds. A long sturdy cable was attached to it, forming a zip line over to the shuttleport.

“It's replicating the cable!” Principal whispered excitedly. Clint rolled his eyes.

“Let's move!” Rovat whispered back, taking a running leap off the roof. As soon as she'd reached the zipline, she immediately latched the clasp attached to the cable tied around her waist onto it. Her entire body jerked as it held her weight, but then her momentum was propelling her forward, across the gap.

Clint and Principal didn't wait, they followed – Principal first, with Clint going last. By the time they were zipping along overhead Rovat had already been spotted. She shot down into the hanger, aiming to distract rather than kill.

Before she even reached the end of the zipline she unclasped herself, tucking into a roll – her momentum carried her on top of one of the docked ships. She came out of the roll and immediately began shooting, covering Clint and Principal as they followed her.

Clint grunted as his body connected with the ship's hull. He was going to be so bruised tomorrow – he hadn't had a workout this good in ages.

The three of them raced over the top of the docked ships, leaping from one to the next until there were none close enough for them to reach. The Cardassians had caught onto their presence by now, disruptor fire arced overhead, only missing them because they were moving too quickly.

Clint followed Rovat's lead, aiming for other ships or overhead lights – anything to cause enough of a distraction to the soldiers that they didn't have time to actually aim. He managed a nice hit on the plasma manifold of an Orion raider, which sent clouds of blue gas hissing and billowing out to fill the hanger.

It had felt like they'd barely even begun when suddenly the Klingon scout ship was already there in front of them.

“Allow me,” Principal said, putting a small remote out of his jacket and pressing a button. The door hissed open, and Clint knew that the security systems SI must have installed in the ship would have now been deactivated.

“After you,” Clint said to Rovat, allowing her to enter after Principal. He squeezed off another couple of shots into the hazy, gas-filled hanger as the doors slid shut, then followed them into the cabin.

“Beginning engine pre-ignition sequence,” Principal called out from the pilot's seat.

“I'll man the weapons, shall I?” Clint said, grinning as he dropped into the seat in front of the weapons console. He'd always loved Klingon weapons – especially ones modified by Starfleet, deadly and efficient was his favourite combination.

“There'll be a warship in orbit,” Rovat warned, as she dropped down into the seat in between Principal and Clint.

Principal just smirked at her, “You didn't actually think I came alone, did you?”

Rovat's lips quirked, “I'd hoped not. But then, I'm not all that familiar with how Starfleet operates.” She gave Clint a significant look at that. Principal raised an eyebrow at that, but Clint just shook his head – they all had a lot to say to each other, but now was hardly the time.

“Activating thrusters,” Principal announced.

Their ship rocked suddenly, alarms flashing a deep amber. Clint's sensors showed a group of Cardassians had combined their forces to shoot at them.

“What happened to manning the weapons?” Principal teased.

“On it,” Clint assured him, before taking care of the problem.

The ship rose ungracefully into the air, stray disruptor beams being absorbed harmlessly by the hull. Principal piloted them smoothly out of the hanger and straight into the sky, pushing the thrusters to maximum in order to leave the atmosphere.

“I've got a _Galor_ -class warship locked onto our position,” Clint called out, already locking on weapons.

Principal tapped a command and a comm signal activated.

“Incoming,” Clint announced, as another ship pulled out from behind a moon.

“They're on our side,” Principal assured him, unnecessarily – the Starfleet vessel put themselves between their ship and the Cardassians. Principal piloted them towards it, and simultaneously opened a channel.

“This is Commander May of the USS _Cavalry_ , disengage immediately or you will be fired upon,” the Starfleet ship broadcast to the Cardassian vessel.

The Cardassians seemed to take a minute to decide whether it was worth the risk, before ultimately breaking off.

Clint's eyes lit up, “You and May came to get me? I'm touched Coulson.” He could finally drop the codenames, now that they were alone.

Coulson rolled his eyes at him, even as he piloted their little ship towards the _Cavalry_ 's shuttlebay. “Don't get too excited Agent Barton, we didn't go to all this trouble for you,” he reminded him.

Clint's chest tightened, in all the excitement he'd almost forgotten. “Right, sorry sir. Just felt like old times is all.”

Coulson actually looked almost sympathetic at that, which Clint considered an improvement. “Aren't you going to introduce us properly?” he prompted Clint, inclining his head at Rovat, who had been watching the goings on with apparent amusement.

“Natima Rovat,” she said, beating him to it, “Former agent of the Obsidian Order.”

Coulson included his head in greeting, “Agent Phil Coulson of Starfleet Intelligence.”

He piloted them smoothly through the _Cavalry_ 's shields – which he must have matched their own ship's shield frequency to, Clint realised – and into the now open shuttlebay.

A half dozen security officers were waiting outside the ship when they disembarked.

“Welcome to the _Cavalry_ ,” one of the officers greeted them. “If you'd like to follow me to your guest quarters ma'am,” he addressed Rovat.

She stopped, quirking an eyebrow at Clint and Coulson.

“Nothing will happen to you,” Coulson assured her, “Although we will place an armed guard outside your room, as a precaution.”

Rovat actually seemed comforted by that. Clint remembered what she'd said about the Federation being too trusting.

“We'll escort you back to Starbase 375, then we can see about … helping you,” Coulson went on.

Rovat nodded, “Very well.” She turned back to the officer and allowed herself to be lead out of the shuttlebay.

Clint moved to follow them, but was stopped by Coulson.

“Where exactly do you think you're going Barton?”

Clint froze.

Coulson frowned, “My understanding was that you were escorting Agent Rovat to us, before returning to your … friends.”

“That was the original plan, sir,” Clint agreed. Then he met Coulson's eyes, “However, it seems I had a change of heart after all.”

Coulson's eyebrows rose at that – he seemed genuinely surprised. Clint could understand why, he'd been half wondering whether he'd change his mind back, once he knew Rovat was safe.

But she'd been right, he'd done what he thought he had to do, when he defected to the Maquis. But his loyalty had always been to Starfleet – he might not agree with their Treaty with the Cardassians, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before they became the enemy once more.

And when they did, Clint knew he could do the most good against them from within Starfleet, fighting to protect the Federation.

“In that case,” Coulson said, slowly, “I'm going to have to escort you to the brig.”

Clint swallowed heavily. He knew it wouldn't be as easy as coming back, to find his old job open and waiting for him. Even if his trust in Coulson and Starfleet had remained as solid as duranium, their trust in him had been broken.

He was going to have to earn it back. But that was okay, Clint always enjoyed a challenge.

~

“Would you state your name for the record?” Commander May asked, sitting across from her.

“I am Natasha Romanov,” Natasha said. A thrill ran down her spine as she spoke. She had been given so many identities over her lifetime – so many names, so many faces. Being able to choose one for herself was … liberating.

“And would you please share a summary of the results of Doctor Simmons' findings, in her work over the past six months, to retrieve your memories, also for the record?”

Natasha nodded, clasping her hands in front of her on the desk that sat between them.

“Doctor Simmons and I learned that I was born Human. My name was Natalia Romanova. My parents were Starfleet officers, captured during the Federation-Cardassian war. They were prisoners of the Union, forced to work in the Hutet labour camp on Cardassia IV. When I was four years old, they were killed in a 'mining accident', so that the Obsidian Order could train me as an asset. I was surgically altered to look Cardassian, even down to a deep-tissue scan. My memories were suppressed by the Order, and replaced by ones that made me believe I actually was Cardassian.”

Natasha's voice rang out clearly – each fact she stated was a victory, born of months of difficult work. Sorting out truth from the lies the Cardassians had implanted in her mind had been a painful process, one that Natasha doubted she could successfully endure at times. But Clint had been right, all those months ago, Starfleet had helped her.

She owed them, and Natasha didn't take debts lightly.

May nodded, “And now that you've learned the truth, it is your desire to become a Federation citizen?”

“It is,” Natasha confirmed. Pride swelled in her chest.

“Then let it be stated for the record that, as of stardate 48924.0, Natasha Romanov has been granted full citizenship within the United Federation of Planets,” May announced, tapping a series of commands into the panel on her desk.

Behind them, Doctor Simmons and the rest of the crew who'd been working with Natasha erupted into cheers. May gave them one of her patented looks and their excitement trailed off awkwardly. Natasha had to bite back a smile, she had a reputation to maintain after all.

“Please confirm for the record that it is also your desire,” May went on, “to serve the Federation as a Starfleet officer, with all the duties and responsibilities that entails.”

“It is,” Natasha replied.

“Then let the record state that on this day, Agent Natasha Romanov, codename Black Widow, service number VX-003-516, began her service as an officer within Starfleet Intelligence, with the rank of Lieutenant Commander, effective immediately.” May tapped another command into her desk, then fell silence.

“Now can we celebrate?” Simmons asked, after the silence dragged on.

“If you must,” May replied, but Natasha could see the way her eyes lit up with amusement, even if the rest of her face remained impassive.

As much as Natasha would have preferred to maintain her own impassive image, she was far too thrilled to follow May's example. She allowed her lips to curl up almost imperceptibly, in honour of the occasion.

Simmons, who had worked with her the closest over these past months, noticed it and grinned.

But before Natasha had been dragged off to the party being held in her honour, Agent Coulson stuck his head into May's office.

“Party's going to have to wait, we have a situation. Agent Romanov, you're with me,” he announced.

“What's the situation sir?” she asked, after they'd made their way up a few corridors.

Coulson stopped outside his office and turned to face her, a small smile on his face. “No situation. I just thought you might appreciate a … quieter reunion, before everyone finds out.”

“Sir?” Natasha queried, puzzled.

Coulson swept into his office without another word, leaving Natasha to follow.

“What's this about a party Coulson? 'Cause if you're keeping me away so you can get to Simmons' cake first, I'm going to have to- Oh.”

Natasha stopped in the threshold of the room and blinked in surprise.

Clint blinked back, then an easy smile spread over his face. “Starfleet's a good look on you,” he greeted her, looking her up and down.

“You too,” she replied. It was certainly a change from his scruffy Maquis appearance.

“I still don't think I'm used to the lack of nose ridges though,” he said, chuckling, studying her face.

Natasha smirked, “It grows on you,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

Clint winked, “I'm sure it will.” Then he turned to Coulson and quirked an eyebrow, “But seriously, what about this party?”

Coulson just rolled his eyes, “See if I ever do you a nice gesture again,” he muttered, already leading the way out of the office. Clint followed, teasing him as he went.

Natasha trailed after them, allowing herself a full smile. Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> If you also love both Marvel and Star Trek and want to chat about them, you can find me on [tumblr](http://aceofwands.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> If anyone else wants to play in this sandbox you have my blanket permission - just credit this series/fic for inspiration please :)


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